


5 Things McCree Likes (+1 Hanzo Finds Out)

by captainskellington



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9135751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainskellington/pseuds/captainskellington
Summary: McCree was, quite honestly, incredibly bad for Hanzo’s health.It's not like he was entirely free from blame, though. Hanzo was guilty of paying the man a particularly intense level of attention, and had been for a while now.Does exactly what it says on the tin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read: Happy new year! I hope 2017 works out well for everyone.

McCree was, quite honestly, _incredibly_ bad for Hanzo’s health.

It's not like he was entirely free from blame, though. Hanzo was guilty of paying the man a particularly intense level of attention, and had been for a while now.

But he truly could not help it. McCree was charming, cheerful to the point of infectiousness when the mood took him, supportive even when he was struggling himself.

He laughed a lot, and smiled even more. Hanzo often found himself smiling even from just being in his presence.

It also did not help that he was a truly beautiful man who was really, really affectionate with his close friends. A group that Hanzo now inexplicably found himself part of.

They had been sitting on a rooftop when he'd realised just how bad his situation was.

 

**1.**

Smoke filled the air from an explosion that had cleared the field not too long before. Hanzo was looking down at a makeshift battlefield that was mostly grey, stone and ash and ruin, a tree across the square the sole remaining flash of colour. He kicked his heels against the wall as he sat precariously on the edge of the building.

Thankfully he heard the man approach before he spoke, otherwise he would've been liable to spook and either fall off the roof or launch one of his remaining arrows at his face. Which would've been a shame, because he liked McCree’s face.

“Well, ain't that a sight.”

Hanzo turned his head to look at him, following his gaze. Where he had been gazing down into the square McCree’s face was lifted to the sky, clouds like fire seen through smudged glass and oil spills spreading across the horizon as far as the eye could see.

McCree’s face was lit with awe and warmth, eyes gleaming with a faint reflection of the painted sky, made even brighter amongst the dirt and grime smeared across his skin from fighting.

Hanzo felt a gentle ache settle in his chest and sucked in a silent gasp as McCree closed the distance between them and settled with surprising lightness on the edge beside him.

_Oh._

McCree smiled at him.

Hanzo forced himself to look away, only allowing himself to smile once his eyes were firmly following the trail blazed by the setting sun.

_So that's what that feeling was._

A warm breeze toyed with their hair. McCree closed his eyes to let it wash over him, removing his hat and holding it to his chest with a blissful expression.

Hanzo felt himself committing a fact to memory:

_Jesse McCree likes sunsets._

 

**2.**

Thankfully, not all of Hanzo’s revelations came to him on battlefields. Not that he couldn’t cope with them if they did, but distractions were never welcome where hostiles had been or may still be present.

He was already used to McCree’s habit of running his fingers over material. His hands were always busy. He was constantly playing with the edge of his serape, tugging at loose threads on his clothing. He ran his fingers along the fabric of furniture, drummed them on walls and tables. His thumbs briefly snagged in his belt loops for a few moments before he fidgeted again. During transport to missions he would methodically fiddle with his guns, cleaning and reloading and double and triple checking his ammunition without even appearing to notice he was doing it.

Hanzo had become accustomed to all of this in time working and training alongside McCree. What he didn’t expect was his tendency to extend the habit towards other members of the team.

He paused at the kitchen door on his way to his quarters, deciding to make himself something relatively healthy to bide his hunger until dinner.

Lena greeted him cheerfully from atop a high stool, legs swinging beneath her. He nodded and offered a smile in return, but it was a somewhat distracted gesture because of what McCree was doing behind her.

She was in desperate need of a haircut -- or so Hanzo assumed from the way she had been irritably tossing her hair out of her eyes for the last few days -- and McCree’s fingers were delicately sweeping strands of hair off of her face and twisting them into a neat braid.

There was something very tender about the action, and McCree looked quietly thrilled to be doing it, humming around a hair grip in his mouth. He paused to salute Hanzo before continuing.

The ache in Hanzo’s chest returned. Not that it had ever really left.

He looked so _happy._

Hanzo passed by them to get a glass of water, listening to Lena describing the last mission she'd been on. The girl was a natural storyteller, and McCree had to remove the hair grips from his mouth more than once to stop him from inhaling them laughing.

Twenty minutes later Hanzo was still there, leaning against the counter and laughing along with them. McCree had long ago put the last grip in Lena’s now manageable hair, his fingers rhythmically drumming on his leg as he spoke.

During a lull in the conversation, Hanzo looked at him thoughtfully.

“What?” McCree said, but there was a smile on his lips and nothing but curiosity in the question.

Hanzo shrugged. “I was wondering what else you could do with hair.”

“Depends,” McCree said, thumbs in his belt loops again. “See, different types an’ lengths of hair let you do different things.”

Hanzo thought for a moment then smiled. He reached behind him and released his own hair from its tie to fall about his shoulders, watching McCree’s eyes light up as he followed the movement.

“May I?” McCree said, eyes hopeful and hands flexing.

Hanzo nodded, unable to stop the stretch of the smile that was beginning to hurt his face.

Lena laughed and vacated her stool, gesturing to Hanzo to take her place. “You've just made his day, love.”

So he wasn't the only one who had noticed. Jesse McCree just loved to touch things, to work with his hands.

There was reverence in the way McCree ran his fingers through Hanzo’s hair. He was utterly silent as he went to work, Lena filling the silence with another story, this one involving Lúcio and a goat who was particularly enthusiastic about the colour green.

Hanzo just tried his very best not to look too blissful.

And totally forgot about getting his healthy pre-dinner snack.

 

**3.**

There was one thing in particular that McCree liked that Hanzo deeply enjoyed himself. He suspected that the others on the team were of the same opinion, despite their digs and claims to the contrary.

McCree had to be told off at least twice a mission for humming over the comms when they were supposed to have radio silence. He -- literally -- whistled while he worked sometimes. If anyone was mildly annoyed with him for any reason, he would serenade them until they either got even more annoyed with him, or cracked up laughing.

McCree loved music. And he had a _good_ voice.

There was probably a far better word than ‘good’ to describe McCree’s singing, but while they picked through the rubble of a recently destroyed building to check for survivors and Hanzo found himself staring sightlessly at the front page of a burnt newspaper he couldn't really figure out exactly what that word was.

The fire still burned on, and he felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back. He grimaced and pushed on.

“Hey Hanzo,” McCree said, and Hanzo jerked his head to look at his friend. “Do you wanna retire, man?”

“I--” Hanzo narrowed his eyes, sensing he was about to be mocked in some way. “Why.”

“Because it’s _too hot_ ,” he yelled, and somewhere in the distance Lúcio cried ‘ _hot damn!_ ’

“Called Overwatch ‘cause we’re on fire, man. Too hot!”

This time several voices responded with ‘ _hot damn!_ ’ as McCree threw his arms wide and proudly exclaimed, “ _Make a dragon wanna retire, man!_ ”

Hanzo looked at him. He looked at his teammates in the distance, snickering as they paused their work to add another ‘ _hot damn!'_

He sighed.

He pressed a hand to his forehead.

He shouted, “ _Say my name, you know who I am_.”

As the others hollered and continued, all Hanzo could think that it was worth it for the look of sheer delight on McCree’s face alone.

Yes, McCree loved to sing. He was good at it too.

But he was also a vintage meme, and Hanzo loved that about him.

_Wait._

He lost his footing and landed on one knee amongst the rubble.

_Love?_

Suddenly, retiring didn’t sound like such a bad idea after all.

_Shit._

 

**4.**

Hanzo fired arrow after arrow at the simulated targets, the machine struggling to even throw up new targets before he shot them down.

He sighed. He would have to ask Winston about reprogramming the training system again. This particular pattern of targets was becoming too repetitive, and Hanzo's muscle memory was doing more of the work than his conscious efforts.

He fired off another rapid volley of arrows, flights quivering as they struck home, stopping only when the simulation was complete and a low whistle came from behind him.

“Impressive,” said McCree, and Hanzo felt a small pocket of pride glow inside of him. He shrugged off his quiver with a smile, barely even sweating though he'd been at the range for at least an hour.

“It does its job,” Hanzo nodded at McCree’s occupied holsters. “Joining me?”

“I'm more than happy to watch,” McCree said, leaning back against the wall.

Hanzo raised an eyebrow, but got no response. He turned back to the range to conceal a smirk as he said, “Alright then, if you're scared to take me on.”

“Hey now,” said McCree, voice playful, and suddenly he was beside Hanzo with a gun in his hand. “Nobody said nothin’ about a competition.”

Hanzo didn't take time to bask in his success, instead punching in a sequence that would randomise a series of long and short range targets complying to the highest difficulty setting

He had learned very early on that McCree liked a little bit of friendly competition, and who was he to deny a man some fun?

He fit an arrow and drew back his bowstring to wait for the signal to begin, sensing McCree’s eyes tracking the movement as he felt the strain on his arm muscles.

McCree turned his head and tightened his grip, two guns drawn, trigger fingers at the ready.

The signal chimed. What followed was five minutes of intense rapid fire, nonstop chiming as targets were hit, and friendly heckling from both parties. McCree intentionally took down one of Hanzo’s high scoring targets and Hanzo responded by nailing three of his. Hanzo dug an amiable elbow into McCree’s side and received a hat to his face in return. McCree stood on his foot and Hanzo whipped his head sideways and grinned when McCree squawked at the sharp sting of a faceful of hair.

By the time there were no targets left to take, they were breathing hard and laughing harder, helpless with mirth.

McCree gestured to the score onscreen, only a handful of points between them. “That gap would’ve been bigger if you didn't weaponise your dang ponytail, cheat.”

“Footstomper,” Hanzo returned. He knelt to retrieve McCree’s hat, then thought better of returning it and returned to his feet wearing the thing.

“Hey,” McCree said weakly, but he made no attempt to get it back.

“This is my hat now,” Hanzo said gravely. “ _I_ am the cowboy. Howdy.”

McCree broke down into a fit of giggles. “I do _not_ say _howdy,”_ he choked out.

Hanzo struggled to keep his face straight. “You just did, _pardner._ ”

McCree threw his hands up in the air but he didn't stop laughing. “I can't deal with you when you're like this.”

Hanzo’s grip on his expression failed and he grinned wide. “I don't think I can keep this up,” he admitted.

“Get your damn bow,” McCree said, shaking his head. “Let's go get lunch before you go even more pod-man on me.”

“Sure thing, darlin’,” Hanzo said, pleased at both just how accurate his impression was in this instance, and that he didn't blush as he said it despite the thrill he got even from calling McCree ‘darlin’’.

So pleased, in fact, that he didn't notice the way McCree’s eyes shot open wide or his sharp intake of breath. The expression was there one heartbeat and gone the next, then McCree was slinging an arm over his shoulders and forcibly steering him in the direction of the kitchen, and Hanzo found himself with another set of distractions entirely.

 

**5.**

Hanzo was finding it increasingly difficult to catch his breath. A combination of laughter, sugar and alcohol was making him dizzy, the warmth of the room blurring his senses, and the firm weight of McCree pressed against his side was not helping matters in the slightest.

It was a party! It wasn't really a party. It just so happened that everyone ended up back in the same building together for the first time in… possibly ever? And they were all crammed into the same -- room? It was like a massive library, but with a pool table. And couches. Music was blaring from somewhere. There was also alcohol. Obviously.

Maybe it was a bit of a party.

Had they always had a fireplace? Hanzo hadn't been in this part of the base much. It was entirely possible.

McCree needed to stop smiling at him.

But that was the thing. He hadn't stopped smiling all day. This whole scenario was his doing. The one thing that everyone in the world who was even passingly familiar with McCree knew about him was that he _loved_ his friends. And here they were, all in the same room.

And there he was, choosing to sit next to Hanzo.

Fire was good. He wasn't the only one who looked a little hot under the collar.

Hanzo engaged Lúcio -- inexplicably atop the pool table even as Mei and Jack played around him -- in a conversation that started off complimenting Lúcio’s new boots and somehow derailed into what sort of dessert would make the best projectile and what weapon and/or propulsion system would be best suited for the job. Others began to offer their own absurdly logical insight, Lena insisting on a weird custard gun design from some bizarre musical from her childhood. Jack paused to question what exactly defined ‘dessert’. Hana’s stomach rumbled.

All the while Hanzo was distantly aware of McCree beaming, colour high in his cheeks, animatedly gesturing in conversation with his brother. He narrowly avoided receiving a metallic elbow to the face, catching McCree’s arm just in time and carefully returning it to his side. Which was technically also Hanzo’s side. McCree grimaced apologetically. Hanzo just rolled his eyes.

Genji said something decidedly crude and McCree outright _guffawed_ , but Hanzo had no time to react to or process either of these facts because as McCree guffawed, his hand came to rest on top of Hanzo’s leg, just above the knee.

It had to be an accident, he was thumping his own thigh and missed. That wouldn't be hard, they were, as mentioned, squashed intimately close together on a couch that wasn't supposed to seat as many people as it currently was.

Yes. It had to be an accident.

Except he didn't move his hand.

Hanzo had missed a good two minutes of conversation and haphazardly weighed in on the likelihood of being able to launch lightly toasted marshmallows with a bow. (“Well, potentially, if they were still on the skewer. But isn't the point to maim with the food itself? Because that seems like cheating.”) He was amazed he managed to offer any input at all as McCree’s fingers gently curled around his thigh.

Nobody else in the room had noticed a thing. McCree hadn't even paused in exchanging barbs with Genji.

So Hanzo went ahead and let himself sink further against McCree’s side, taking whatever contact he would allow him.

Yes, McCree loved his friends. There was no doubt about it. Never was he happier than when they were all together.

But what exactly did he think of Hanzo?

 

**+1.**

Hanzo found himself reading the same sentence three times consecutively without understanding it as a deep crooning drifted into his room from the corridor.

The singing stopped abruptly at Hanzo’s ajar door, and then a familiar face under a familiar hat appeared.

“Hanzo! Didn't realise y'all’d gotten back already. How'd it go?”

Hanzo smiled and placed a marker in his book, gesturing for him to come in, sitting cross legged on his bed. They had been doing this for a while, giving each other mission reports that were generally more fun and colourful than the official ones they had to submit.

McCree dropped to the bed beside him, leaning back on his elbows and watching as Hanzo launched into his report. He laughed at Hanzo’s expletives and grimaced at the appropriate places, Hanzo gesturing wildly and feeling more and more at ease as the moments passed.

The third time Hanzo irritably flicked his hair out of his face McCree raised a hand and asked, “May I?”

Hanzo only paused for a moment to nod, scooching forward and feeling the bed dip behind him as McCree settled into place, neatly separating his hair into segments as he continued the story.

As he spoke, McCree began to hum under his breath, breaking off from time to time to ask questions.

“--so I just shot the bastard and left it at that.”

“Because he called you pretty?”

There was an edge to McCree’s voice that he couldn't decipher, his hands pausing before finishing off his work and retreating. He didn't come back to Hanzo's eyeline.

“That was a polite paraphrasing on my part. I won't repeat what he said,” Hanzo said, anger bubbling up once again. When McCree didn't respond, Hanzo turned to him with a frown. “If it helps, he was definitely a Nazi. Although, even if he wasn't and he'd been more polite about it, he still wouldn't have received a positive reaction.”

“Not your type?” McCree asked. Hanzo’s frown deepened. He wasn't used to McCree sounding… nervous?

“I generally prefer my men --” _tall, scruffy, permanently wearing a really silly hat, currently talking to me_ “-- to _not_ be part of a criminal organisation. I do have standards.”

McCree laughed, seeming almost relieved. Hanzo wished he could be happy about that, but he couldn't for the life of him decipher what he'd done to make it happen.

“Out of curiousity, what _are_ those standards?” McCree said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

This was getting into uncomfortable territory. Hanzo was beginning to wish McCree had just kept on singing right past his open door.

“... _not_ in a criminal organisation?” he tried, weakly.

“No, no,” McCree shook his head, “Not gonna cut it. I didn't know Hanzo Shimada had a type, but now I gotta find out what it is. Humor me.”

Hanzo felt a burning sensation lingering on his face and threatening to betray him. He pretended to consider the question, desperately trying to think of anything that wasn't the word, ' _you._ ’

“Someone who can put up with --” _don’t say ‘our’_ “-- my friends,” he said, finally.

“That’s not difficult, we’re a goddamn delight. Next,” McCree said, and Hanzo wasn’t sure if he was getting closer or if he was finally making him lose his mind. He felt the blush finally make its way onto his face.

Hanzo closed his eyes. “...confidence. Tendency to smile often. Tendency to laugh often. Competitive, but a good sport,” something inside of him just said ‘ _fuck it_ ’ as he continued. “Likes sunsets. Likes to sing.”

McCree was unnervingly silent.

Hanzo raised a hand and ran his fingers across the delicate twists in his hair with a sigh, and resigned himself to his fate. “Good with his hands,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“This is all soundin’ awfully specific,” McCree said, his own voice low.

Hanzo kept his eyes squeezed shut. He knew. He would leave, now. He’d made it awkward. He’d _ruined_ it.

He felt something touch his shoulder.

“You told me yours, I’ll tell you mine,” McCree’s voice was gentle.

Hanzo wanted to beg him not to, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Hey,” McCree said, suddenly concerned. Hanzo felt a hand curl softly under his chin. “Look at me.”

Hanzo couldn’t deny him that, opening his eyes only to be astonished at the intensity of the look on McCree’s face. He looked almost… fond?

“You,” said McCree.

Hanzo blinked. “Me?” he asked, certain he’d misunderstood. Certain that his pounding heart was about to be crushed into pieces. Certain that this story wasn’t going to have a happy ending.

And then McCree kissed him.

  


So, as it turned out, there was one more thing McCree liked.

And that was Hanzo.

 

And Hanzo was _just fine_ with that, thanks.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if I've hecked up anywhere, I'm speed posting this before I run downstairs for a party.  
> Someone chase me away from this pairing with a broom, I DON'T GO HERE.  
> [Come say hey on tumblr.](http://cityelf.tumblr.com)


End file.
